


she bit me (and it felt like a kiss)

by smolqueernerds



Category: The Ever Afters Series - Shelby Bach
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Asexual Character, Bisexual Female Character, Buffy the Vampire Slayer References, F/F, Genderqueer Character, Lesbian Character, Millie and Sebastian know ASL, POV Bisexual Character, Trans Female Character, bad grammar and worse flirting, everyone is soft and nerdy, genderqueer aro ace Sebastian, it's actually disgustingly cute I'm kind of ashamed, it's so hard not to click 'canon' on any of these, legitimate tags as an attempt for personal validation, there is no actual biting in this, this started out as a Carmilla AU, trans butch lesbian Solange, wow how did this get so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolqueernerds/pseuds/smolqueernerds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay,” Millie says eventually. “So I should talk to Solange about this?”</p><p>Seb shakes their head. “Of course not. That’d be ridiculous. You just need to perform a series of controlled, clandestine tests to detect vampirism.”</p><p>“Obviously,” Millie says flatly. “I apologize. Can’t believe I didn’t realize, when the solution was right there in front of me.”</p><p>A Second Triumvirate AU where Solange is a vampire and everyone is a dork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she bit me (and it felt like a kiss)

It’s Sebastian’s fault, in the beginning.

She ignores their first text, asking where she is. And then the second, and the third, and the tenth, because once she’s started she can’t exactly stop. She’s planning to meet them up with them and offer an apology and an excuse, sooner or later, just as soon as she’s finished this essay, and analyzed these chapters, and answered these pages of math problems. But she doesn’t have the chance, because with unreasonable speed, ignored texts turn into missed calls turn into them showing up at her dorm room at 7 am on Saturday morning. In retrospect, she shouldn’t have given them a key.

She is composed. She has her life together. She is currently maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and that is all the indication anyone should need that she is doing one hundred percent fine, honestly. So what if she hasn’t left the apartment in thirty-six hours and she’s spent four days subsisting off raw chocolate chip cookie dough and instant coffee? She’s managing.

“You’re coming with me,” Sebastian says, sitting on her bed and surveying the mess of papers decorating the floor around it with a critical eye, “and we’re going out for breakfast, and then to the store to buy fruit and vegetables and other basic nutritional items, and then to my dorm to power-nap for a couple hours, because we’re going to a gay club tonight and you need to be well-rested for the amount of dancing you’re going to do.”

“Seb,” Millie says, in her calmest and most reasonable tone, “absolutely none of that is necessary.”

“Millie,” Seb replies, “I refuse to believe that you can’t tell that you’re being an idiot.”

So she won’t be able to bluff her way out of this one. Time to negotiate.

“Okay,” Millie says, several minutes later, suppressing her frustration, “you can take me to breakfast and to the store and even back to your room for a nap if you want, but there is absolutely no way you are taking me to a gay club.”

“Oh, beautiful bisexual buddy of mine,” Sebastian says, “I am going to give you the best and queerest night of your life if I have to drag you there by your hair.”

“I’m underage!”

“I don’t expect you to drink.”

“I won’t be able to get in!”

“Sure you will. You’re cute as a button, and if that’s not enough, I’ll flirt with the bouncer while you slip under the rope.”

“I can’t even dance!”

Seb squints at her. “What on earth are you talking about? I’ve seen you dance, and you’ve got some perfectly decent moves.”

“‘Perfectly decent,’” Millie repeats. “Well, thank you for the rousing endorsement, but - “ She squares her shoulders. “I just don’t want to. So I won’t. And that’s final.”

“In any other circumstances, I would be applauding your self-actualized empowerment,” Sebastian tells her. “But you and I both know, even if you don’t want to admit it, that you actually do want to.” They rise from the bed and step forward to stand in front of her, looking into her eyes. “Millie, you aren’t in Kansas anymore. You are in a safe, reasonable, LGBT-friendly environment, and no one is going to use anything you do tonight against you, and no one will be disappointed in you, and no one will hurt you. So for the love of god, come with me, and I will stick by your side for the entire night and you can carry a gallon of pepper spray and a Swiss army knife in your purse and I won’t even force you to interact with anyone, but we are going.”

Silence stretches out between them.

“Okay,” Millie says finally. “But you had better feed me some really good French toast and sausage before I change my mind.”

Seb’s grin is blinding as they grab her hand and haul her out the door.

 

It’s six o’clock when Sebastian wakes her to start getting ready.

They dub the blouse and sheer tights she’s currently wearing acceptable ensemble pieces, but discard her current knee-length skirt and ballet flats in favor of a miniskirt and some combat boots from their own wardrobe. Then, after combing her hair out and braiding it, they start on her makeup.

Despite her many years of friendship with Sebastian, Millie has managed to learn very little about makeup, but when she’s finally allowed to open her eyes, it’s obvious that they’ve done wonders with her. Her cheeks are a shimmering dusky rose, her lips a gorgeous shade of red, and when she blinks, magnificently blended blue, pink, and purple glitter flashes from her eyelids.

“And just in case the lights in the club don’t show off your lids too well,” Sebastian says, reaching down to fasten something around her neck, “take this.”

“Real subtle, Seb,” Millie says, looking in the mirror; it’s the letters BI in silver, hanging from a matching slim chain.

“Subtle isn’t the name of the game tonight, darling.”

Sebastian opts for a crop top that reads TOO ASEXY FOR THIS SHIRT, artfully ripped dark green jeans, and purple platform shoes. After slicking their hair back with gel, winging their eyeliner with impossibly perfect points, and grabbing what they refer to as their Responsible Partying Bag, they’re heading out the door and pulling Millie along behind.

 

The club isn’t so bad. Sure, the light is bad, and the music’s loud, and the whole place smells of alcohol, but there’s something . When Seb drags her off the floor and into one of the place’s several gender neutral bathrooms, she almost protests.

“Millie, there’s a woman out there staring at you.”

A tendril of fear coils in her stomach. “Oh god do you think she recognized me? What do you think she’ll do? I saw an emergency exit over by-”

Seb puts a hand on her arm and a finger to their lips, and Millie obediently closes her mouth and takes a slow breath through her nose.

“Mils, I didn’t mean a bad kind of staring. I mean she thinks you’re hot. I’ll point her out to you when we’re out there again and you can see what you think.”

“Seb, you promised you wouldn’t make me interact with anyone!”

“I’m not making you do anything. I am helpfully pointing out a prime hookup opportunity that you may take or not take as you wish. All you have to do is look at her and decide if you like what you see. Easy.”

“Oh, yeah, totally easy,” Millie mutters contemptuously as she follows Seb out of the bathroom.

 

“Over there,” Seb breathes into her ear, subtly adjusting their grip on her waist to point her in the right direction. “Sitting at the bar. The blonde one.”

Millie gulps inadvertently when her eyes find the woman.

“So, what do you think?” Seb asks. “Is she attractive?”

It takes Millie several seconds to remember how to speak. “Are you messing with me? There’s no way that she finds me hot.”

The woman chooses that exact moment to look up and meet Millie’s eyes. In the time that it takes Millie’s cheeks to heat to scorching, a slow smile curls across the woman’s lips, and she raises a hand to wiggle her fingers in an inviting wave.

“You sure about that?” Millie can hear the smirk in Seb’s voice. “Okay, stage two. Go talk to her.”

“What?! No!”

“Millie, I know you want to. You know you want to. It’ll be okay, trust me. If she’s not worthy, signal me and I’ll rescue you. Okay?”

Millie groans quietly.

“Okay?” Seb repeats.

“Okay.”

“Alright, here’s what you do…”

 

Millie would usually be making an effort to act casual right about now, but Sebastian gave her strict instructions not to do that. Apparently, she does casual worse than anyone they’ve ever seen. So she just throws caution and good sense to the winds, approaches the bar, and hoped that she doesn't drool or swoon or something.

It's a hard battle to fight, because the woman she's walking towards is honestly stunning. She pulls off an undercut better than anyone Millie’s ever seen, her legs go on for miles under her cargo shorts, and her leather vest shows off some ridiculously nice arms. There’s a tattoo of a grey wolf on her right bicep, an elaborate snowflake on her left, and a flash of cursive lettering disappearing under the neckline of her tank top. Millie very pointedly does not think about what other tattoos she might have.

“Hi there,” the woman says when Millie reaches the bar. “I’m Solange, but you can call me whatever you like.” She draws the last few words out a bit too long, practically drawling them, which sounds kind of odd in her slight French accent. 

“Mildred,” Millie says, thanking the stars that her voice comes out clear and steady, “but you can call me Millie.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Yours is prettier,” Millie says before she can think about it.

Solange raises her eyebrows, grinning. “Hey, it’s not a contest. We’re both pretty, how about that?”

Millie’s blush is rising again, despite her best efforts to keep it down. “If you say so.”

“So, Millie, can I buy you a drink?” Solange inquires.

“No, thanks,” Millie says, raising her hand to display the can of Doctor Pepper Seb slipped her on the dance floor, along with the instruction, “Don’t take the drink she’s going to offer you, no matter how cute she is - you’d just beat yourself up tomorrow.”

“Are you underage?”

“Um,” Millie responds eloquently. “Are you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Solange says, to Millie’s shock.

“Really? You look older.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No! God, no! I didn’t -” Millie’s scrambling to correct her mistake before she hears Solange laughing.

“I’m sorry! I know you didn’t mean it. You’re just really cute when you panic. Damn, did I say that out loud? Sorry. Again.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Millie says brazenly, but her heart flutters.

“I try not to, actually. Ruins my tough image.” Solange tilts her head thoughtfully. “Then again, I try not to let people in bars know I’m underage, and look what happened there.”

“You really seem like the kind of person who’s allowed to drink,” Millie tries to explain. It doesn’t exactly work, because Solange starts laughing again, but Solange’s laughter is possibly the most magical sound Millie’s ever heard in her life, so it’s not so bad.

“No, seriously, I’m underage. Here, look.” She pulls a wallet out of her vest pocket, rifles through it for a second, and extracts a piece of plastic. “See my ID?”

“Don’t people occasionally bring fake IDs to these kinds of establishments?” Millie asks doubtfully, noting the birth date on the card and the fact that Solange even looks good in her ID photo. 

Solange’s nose crinkles when she grins, which might be a little painful with her nose ring. “Not ones that show that they’re underage, they don’t.”

“Oh.” Millie coughs. “That's, uh, very sensible.”

Solange nods with a shocking lack of mockery. “So, Millie, I can't buy you a drink, but can we keep talking? Or was that your datemate you were dancing with, and right now you’re just looking for a tactful way to turn me down and get back to them?”

“Datemate? You mean Sebastian?” Millie laughs. “I love Seb to death, but we’d make a terrible couple even if they weren't aro. We've just known each other too well for too long.”

“Oh? When did you meet?”

“Seventh grade homeroom, but even if we hadn't, we’d have been friends sooner or later. We, uh, we were the only queer kids in our grade, or even in school, so, automatic closeted besties.” 

“Really, the only ones?”

Millie shrugs, popping the tab of her Dr. Pepper and taking a sip for a chance to think before she speaks. “I mean, who knows? It was the South; nobody was out, sometimes not even to themselves. Seb realized I liked girls before I did. It took them three months to convince me that bisexuality was a thing and another three to believe it could apply to me.”

“Wow,” Solange says. “That sounds majorly sucktastic.”

Millie nearly chokes on her Dr. Pepper.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Millie sputters, swallowing. “I can't believe you just said ‘sucktastic’.”

“Secretly,” Solange tells her seriously, “I am incredibly lame.”

“That's a relief,” Millie says honestly, “because my incredible lameness is a very poorly kept secret.”

“Lame calls to lame,” Solange muses. “You should keep telling me about yourself so I can see if we’re lame-compatible.”

“There’s not really that much to tell. Seb and I applied to all the same LGBT-friendly colleges, and UW offered us both scholarships. Now I'm double majoring in business and childcare. I play viola, I love historical fiction, my favorite color is pink, and you should talk now because I've been talking for way too long.”

Solange hums thoughtfully. “Where to start? I’m a bastard child, which is fun to tell people. I lived with in France with my mom when I was little, but she got arrested for embezzlement when I was in middle school, so I got shipped off to America to live with my dad, stepmom, and stepsister. Best thing that ever happened to me, they're great people and I love them. Especially Zell - she's my kid sister. Smart, funny, and weird as hell. Now I work a dead-end job with weird hours and take college classes online. I’m working towards a poli sci degree. I like horror movies and pain au chocolat, and I really want to spend the night with you, but I’m pretty sure actually asking would be way too forward.”

“It's pretty forward anyway,” Millie says, her heart beating quick, “but since I kind of want that too, I'll forgive you.”

Solange blinks. “...I wasn’t actually prepared for you to agree.”

“Oh. Uh.” Millie’s bravado is slipping through her fingers. “Do you not really want to? I mean, if you don’t, that’s fine, that’s great, I - ”

Solange reaches out and takes Millie’s hand, and speech abandons her.

“I definitely want to.” Despite their icy blue shade, Solange’s eyes hold impossible warmth. “The question is, do you definitely want to?”

Millie nods before remembering Sebastian’s reminder that consent is a verbal clear. “Definitely.” 

“Alright, then.” 

“Alright. So, your place or mine?” (Did she really just say that? Wow.)

“Mine’s not really the nicest place,” Solange admits. “You deserve something better.”

“Mine, then?”

“Yours.”

Millie links her fingers through Solange’s. “Let’s get out of here.”

On her way out, she signs “Going home, call you tomorrow” to Sebastian, who signs back “Be safe, good luck” with an exaggerated wink. Fortunately, Millie has reached her blushing limit for the night.

 

Millie must have walked back to the college with Solange. Or taken a cab. Or something. It only makes sense, because they’re definitely there now. She can’t exactly remember, but she knows that she’s currently pressed up against the wall of her dorm room with a hand in her hair and lips on her neck and she’s never going to be able to harbor a single shred of doubt about her attraction to women again, because sweet wounded Jesus, this feels amazing.

Solange mumbles something into her throat, which produces the most astonishing buzzing sensation.

“Did you say something?” Millie asks, pausing in her quest to unbutton Solange’s vest.

“I said,” Solange says, pulling back several disappointing inches, “that as much as I want to not stop doing this for the next several hours, we do need to talk about this first.”

“Right. Of course. Good plan.” Millie forces herself to let go of the buttons. “Um, what does this mean to you?” Her voice seems a full two octaves higher than normal. “I mean, like -”

“I’d rather start a relationship than have a one night stand,” Solange says frankly. “But I’m flexible. What’s your preferred option?”

“Relationship, I think,” Millie admits. 

“Let’s go with that, then.” Solange takes a step forward until they’re pressed together again, which is not the most helpful position to have a conversation in, but definitely the most enjoyable one. “Unfortunately, I have work tomorrow, so as much as I want to, I can’t stay and make you breakfast. But is there any chance you’d let me take you out for dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’d say there’s a very good chance of that,” Millie says with remarkable calmness, considering part of her wants to jump up and down squealing with excitement.

“Excellent,” Solange whispers. “Anything else you’d like to talk about now?”

The phrase ‘I’ve never been with a woman before’ is on Millie’s lips for about two milliseconds before she realizes how monumentally stupid that sounds and opts instead for the only marginally better, “Well, you remember how I grew up? I've never even kissed anyone besides guys. I don’t really, ah, know how to do things.”

“The principles aren’t all that different,” Solange tells her. Her lips twist into something that’s trying to be a smile, but not quite managing. “Especially in my case.”

Millie blinks, once, twice, three times, before it hits her. “You're trans?”

“Yeah,” Solange says. “Been on hormones for years, had top surgery, but that’s all.” She looks at Millie directly, the humor gone from her face. “You okay with that?”

Millie holds out her hand, palm up, offering it to Solange. “I’m okay with anything you’re okay with. You’ll just have to tell me what you want. What you need.”

Solange takes Millie’s hand and presses it to her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you.”

 

It’s Sebastian’s fault, in the end.

“Wolfgang Sebastian Bruhm,” Millie says, “my girlfriend is absolutely, positively not a vampire, because vampires do not exist, period.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really!”

Sebastian clears their throat and starts ticking off points on their fingers, all the while pacing a hole in her dorm room floor. “You only ever see her at night-”

“She’s busy during the day!”

“She’s never taken you back to her place-”

“She doesn’t want me to see her crappy apartment!”

“She’s unnaturally pale-”

“Okay, now you’re just grasping at straws.”

Sebastian huffs, crossing their arms and turning to face her. “Look, Millie, she has never attended a single one of your orchestra concerts or taken care of you when you got a cold or even gone to lunch with you, all because of quote-unquote ‘work reasons.’ She’s never even stayed an entire night with you, for Pete’s sake! There is no job on earth that takes up that much time, and no apartment so crappy that you think your girlfriend of two months will leave you for it - especially not one that you can afford while wearing clothes that nice - and no skin that white unless you’ve been living under an actual rock for years on end. I am only telling you this because I love you and I don’t want to see you get hurt; either she’s a vampire, or she’s a bad girlfriend.”

Millie presses her palms to her temples. This is ridiculous. Solange is an excellent girlfriend, the best datemate Millie’s ever had. She takes her out for dinner three times a week (they’re on some kind of roving tour of Washington’s restaurants) and cooks for her the other four times. She cuddles with her for hours while they marathon sitcoms and never makes fun of Millie for crying at the sad parts. She texts her reminders to drink water and take her vitamins and not stress over things she can’t control on the daily and always ends her texts with a string of heart emojis. The second accusation is completely unfounded. And the first is too ridiculous to even consider.

But Millie knows Seb isn’t going to let this go.

“Okay,” she says eventually. “So I should talk to her about this?”

Seb shakes their head. “Of course not. That’d be ridiculous. You just need to perform a series of controlled, clandestine tests to detect vampirism.”

“Obviously,” Millie says flatly. “I apologize. Can’t believe I didn’t realize, when the solution was right there in front of me.”

Seb ignores her, forging on. “If the tests result in zilch, then you can talk to her about it.”

“You know what? Fine,” Millie says, doing her best not to think about what she’s agreeing to, because if she does the resulting headache will be excruciating. “What kind of tests did you have in mind?”

 

Test #1 commences that very evening. 

Millie texts Solange asking if they can go out for Italian, and Solange replies in the affirmative almost instantly. Come seven o’clock, they’re sitting in a booth absolutely festooned with fake grapevines.

“I realize that the decor is a little excessive,” Solange says, “but the Yelp reviews were amazing.”

“We’ll have to see,” Millie says. 

The service is certainly fast; within fifteen minutes, their pasta alfredo, steak done rare, and the biggest basket of garlic bread the restaurant carries are steaming on the table in front of them.

“Wow, this is amazing,” Millie says as she takes a bite of garlic bread. It’s not even a lie - the garlic-to-butter ratio is perfection. “Sol, you have to try this.”

Solange shakes her head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Come on,” Millie wheedles, wiggling the loaf in front of her enticingly. “Kissing’ll be much better if we both have garlic breath.”

“Babe,” Solange says, smiling apologetically, “I’m kind of allergic to garlic.”

The bottom drops out of Millie’s stomach.

“Don’t worry, though,” Solange adds, “I’ll kiss you no matter what kind of breath you have. You’re totally worth the hives.”

“Not really what I was worried about,” Millie mutters.

“What?”

“I said I wish I’d ordered the trout!”

 

Test #2 takes place the day after that, because she needs some definitive counter-evidence to shut Sebastian up.

They’re watching All About E on Netflix when Millie pauses it and says, “Sol, could you get me my purse?”

Solange looks puzzled, but obediently goes to retrieve the bag from Millie’s dresser, handing it to her with a dramatic flourish.

Millie grabs the bag with one hand and Solange’s wrist with the other, pulling her back down onto the couch. Unzipping the purse, she rifles through it for a few seconds before pulling out a compact mirror and flipping it open.

“What’s that for?” Solange asks, craning her neck to peer into it. 

“Oh,” Millie says as she lets go of Solange to pull her phone from her pocket, “just making sure that I look good enough to do… this!”

In the resulting flurry of selfies, Millie manages to get several shots that show Solange’s reflection in the mirror. She selects the clearest one and texts it to Sebastian, captioning it with a string of smileys with tongues poking out.

Seb’s response informs her that more data must be collected before definitive conclusions can be drawn concerning the accuracy of the hypothesis.

“Science geek,” Millie mutters disparagingly.

“What was that, babe?” Solange asks from where she’s sprawled flat across Millie’s lap, toying idly with the remote.

Millie turns off her phone and stows it in her purse. “Nothing.”

 

Both Sebastian and Millie are present for Test #3, mostly because Sebastian dropped by to study with Millie for next week’s science midterm while Solange was already there quizzing her with flashcards and it was mutually decided that a group study session would do. Millie doesn’t realize the ulterior motive to the visit until Solange leans down from her perch on the bed’s edge to pick up a dropped study guide and Seb whips a pocket-size crucifix out of their bag. 

“Seb!” Millie hisses. “Put that away!”

Seb seems disinclined to put it away, which leaves Millie no choice but to try and grab it, which results in the two of them freezing mid-tussle when Solange straightens up with the study guide in her grasp and her gaze falls to the object clutched by their four hands.

“I never got the impression you two were particularly religious,” Solange says evenly.

“We’re not,” Seb says, ignoring the fact that Millie is repeatedly signing “shut up” in as subtle a manner as possible.

“I see. You know,” Solange adds, “if you wanted to know if I was a vampire, you could have just asked me.”

“Are you?” Seb asks without missing a beat.

Solange smiles, long and slow, then tilts her head back and opens her mouth. Then there’s a noise not unlike a knife being sharpened, and suddenly her front incisors are about twice as long and four times as sharp, and Millie’s brain is bending just a little bit.

“This,” Seb whispers, eyes round, “is the coolest thing I have ever seen.”

Solange’s fangs vanish as she looks at Millie again. “So, uh, Millie. Hey. Can you say something about this? Please.”

There’s a long moment of silence while Millie rises, turns to face Solange, and takes a breath to speak. 

“You lying liar who lies,” Millie accuses at last, poking her girlfriend in the chest, “you told me when we met that you were underage. You are a vampire. You are the furthest thing from underage.”

Solange snorts. “Millie, I am not saying that I have never lied to you about anything in this relationship, because being undead is kind of a turnoff, but I have been a vamp for about a year and a half. That ID is chronologically accurate.”

“Oh,” Millie says, deflating. “...never mind, then.”

“So, how’d it happen?” Seb asks eagerly, leaning forward.

“Well,” Solange says, “my high school was better than yours, but there were still a couple of jocks who weren’t too thrilled about me being trans. Unfortunately, one of them happened to be a vampire. I went to junior prom wearing a dress and makeup, and he figured that was grounds to corner me behind the school when I was waiting for my ride and bite me. Pretty sure he planned to suck me dry, if he had any kind of plan at all, but the wimp freaked out halfway through and ended up turning me instead.”

“Wow,” Millie says softly. “That is… majorly sucktastic.”

“Literally,” Solange says. “But hey, now I’m faster, stronger, a lot more immortal, and I have really great skin. There are worse things. True, I can’t go out in sunlight without bursting into flame, but what can you do?”

“It’s like evolutionary compensation,” Seb muses. “Fascinating. Would you ever consider letting me run some comparative tests?”

“Seb,” Millie says, “far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific analysis of vampires, but I’m just going to say this right now; you are never, ever, ever going to be allowed to dissect my girlfriend.”

Seb pouts theatrically.

“Aw, babe,” Solange says, leaning in. “You care.”

“Of course I do, you dork,” Millie says when they both come up for air. “One question, though.”

“Fire away.”

“Is this why you refuse to watch Buffy with me?”

“Yes,” Solange says. “I am deeply offended by that show’s cruel and unjust treatment of my brethren.”

“Do you mean the vampires or the lesbians?” Seb inquires.

“Both.”

Somehow, though, they all end up squished together on the bed watching Once More With Feeling anyway, and despite the fact that Sebastian keeps pointing at Spike every time he appears on screen and saying “it you” to Solange, and Solange keeps insisting that she’s Tara since Millie is clearly Willow, and Millie keeps protesting that nobody has to die or succumb to dark magic and maybe they should just switch to YouTubing Carmilla since there’s a surviving character for all three of them there, nothing’s really changed. 

And it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing started when I was writing a different AU entirely and came up with this title and then was like "that doesn't work for an AU" and so wrote this just to have an excuse for this title. Even though it doesn't fit this story at all, and has probably been used, like, a lot. C'est la vie. Or la mort, considering.
> 
> Title from a Nicole Dollaganger song.


End file.
